Secret Keeper: To Walk a Path of Glass
by Mr. Skurleton
Summary: Things are not going well for Inquisitor Lavellan. An ancient darkspawn wants his hand, he's been put in charge of a growing band of misfits that oft try punching each other, his memory has been torn to shreds and there's word from Ferelden of more trouble falling from the sky. Luckily, he need not face this world nor any other alone. (Will diverge from canon and cover post game)
1. What's in a Name

**Updated: 11/21/2018 quite a bit changed so it may be worth a reread.**

* * *

 _He was falling. No. Floating? Like the rocks above, hanging weightless against a sickly green sky._

 _Lavellan thrashed in panic, struggling for the nearest solid object and found himself slammed against it. Black rock, cold to the touch and smooth like someone had cut it to shape._

 _He groaned and sat up, ran a hand down his aching ribs and tentatively checked his spine. Nothing broken but many parts bruised._

 _He righted himself. Or, at least thought he did._

 _He was standing but his hair and clothing didn't seem to be following gravity's rules, flapping around his thin form as if he were hanging from a tree._

 _Where in the void was he? And what was that noise?_

 _Scuttling, scratching sounds, like things scrambling over rock. Lavellan stole a glance behind him and immediately regretted it. Fifty paces back the stuff of nightmares… his nightmares. Hundreds of scurrying legs and glistening eyes rolling in a sea of swollen, hairy bodies. Spiders… it was always fucking spiders._

 _He fled. No time to think. Better not to think. Of their jaws snapping, poison like acid dripping, no way he could kill them all. Every spell thrown over his shoulder drained him, slowed him down. His lungs burned, hands numbed from lightning and fire. His knees threatening to give… If he fell now would he fall upwards?... or was that downwards like his clothes and hair seemed to think it was? Would it mean escape either way?_

 _He caught sight of a light in the distance and veered towards it. Closer. The shape of a person silhouetted against the glare. A crooked staff in their hand. He shouted to them. A warning, a plea for help, anything to get their attention. The figure turned and the elf's heart stopped._

* * *

Harsh green light seared across Inquisitor Lavellan's squinted eyes. He was trying to rub the images of a nightmare away and it took his sleep addled mind a moment or three to realize the light blinding him was coming from his own left hand. He groaned with every fiber of his being and threw the covers to the side.

He wasn't in the fade, he was in Skyhold and laying in a bed so soft it felt like the mattress was trying to swallow him. And while there might have been spiders hiding in the nooks and crannies of his over-sized and needlessly opulent room, they weren't the size of boulders and probably weren't intent on rending him limb from limb. At least, he hoped not.

With a shiver he set bare feet on cool carpeting and tried to tame the writhing mass of hair clinging to his face, shoulders and every other surface it could get its static filled tendrils on. The fire in the grate across the room was nothing more than embers and a glance past the balcony railing revealed a still star studded sky. He knew from a life time of rising early and sleeping outside that he still had an hour or so before sunrise would set the mountain crowned horizon alight. Which meant he was up earlier than he wanted to be. It also meant that Skyhold's kitchen would already be filled with people.

Stiffly he pulled himself up off the bed and began stretching. An unpleasant task to be sure, especially where the fresh scarring on his back was concerned. Courtesy of a twelve foot fall on to a pile of smoldering wood, Lavellan doubted they'd ever fade completely. But he'd settle on not feeling like an elder every time he moved.

Only when he could bend and reach without wincing did he wash up and dress, a familiar black-blue coat thrown over his shoulders.

As predicted, the kitchen staff bustled long before dawn. There was dough to knead and bake, meats that would be slow roasted all throughout the day, things to mash and things to slice and at the center of it all stood the chef Greer. Eyes of a hawk in a wide face, mirth crinkled at the corners and off-set by rose cheeks beneath a dusting of russet freckles. She was short by the measure of humans and curvy in every regard. And the moment she saw Lavellan's waifish shadow darkening the door to her her face split into a grin.

"Come to pilfer the pantry again Your Worship?" She asked with her tongue between her teeth. She had a bowl of soaking apple slices in one hand and a flour coated rolling pin in the other. Around her, half a dozen bodies moved like bees in a hive, only with a lot more chatter. They ranged in age, size and race. Greer only cared about how fast they moved and how well they listened.

"Not entirely. Why?" Lavellan stepped in and around an over laden Dwarven lad with potato sacks thrown over each shoulder.

"Cause it's too early for breakfast to be done yet and I'm already missing a whole wheel of cheese and more than a fair bit of crushed mint." She sat her bowl aside and pulled another one closer across a freshly scrubbed counter-top.

"I'm reasonably sure that wasn't me." Never one to stand idle, Lavellan rolled up his sleeves and took to the growing pile of dishes in need of scouring. Those he passed gave him cheerful and brief 'good morning, Your Worship,' 's which he returned, making sure to put a name to each face. He might not have been able to remember the name of everyone who came and went within the fortress, but he could certainly try.

"Of course not, but for the life of me I can't remember who took them." Greer stopped long enough to develop a frown-line across her brow but shook it off, returning to rolling out pie crusts and flouring her rolling pin. Lavellan said nothing though he made a mental note to ask a certain spirit about the incident later.

They chatted back and forth for a while, Greer happy to have an extra set of hands to help prepare the morning meal and Lavellan just pleased to be doing something that didn't involve long meetings or mountains of paperwork. It also did wonders for clearing his earlier nightmare from his mind.

By the time breakfast was prepared and those on meal duty came in to retrieve their food laden trays, Lavellan was no longer hungry. Benefits of cooking he supposed, you got to nibble and taste every dish long before it hit a table. Back with his clan, it had been much the same. Though he hadn't been allowed far from the Keeper's side.

Lavellan left the kitchen with a small human girl trying to sneak napkin-cradled sweets into the pockets of his coat. Lilah, her name was, her father one of the soldiers he'd rescued from Avaar in the Fallow Mire. No more than twelve years with a smudge of frosting across her nose and a mischievousness that would likely never leave her eyes. Lavellan adopted an air of absolute obliviousness as she ran giggling back inside, pleased with her 'prank'. The day was certainly looking far better than it had an hour or so before.

There were many more people awake and about when he mounted the steps to the ramparts and spied another familiar face. Scout Harding had her feet propped up on a parapet and was watching the sun climb over the snow capped peaks. She still wore her Inquisition uniform but her hair was loosed from its bun and her bow and quiver were leaning against the stonework. Coupled with the lazy lean of her chair, it was perhaps the most relaxed Lavellan had ever seen her.

"Scout Harding, fancy meeting you up here." Lavellan did his best not to sneak up on people who had been trained to act on instinct first. A fair few barely dodged throwing knives, fists and notched arrows as well as apologetic scouts had taught him that one well enough.

"Inquisitor," she greeted with a broad smile and curt nod. "Just got back in from Val Chevin, it'll take a day or so to resupply so I figured I'd relax for a moment."

"I'm reasonably sure you've earned more than a moment at this point." Lavellan took a position that was half lean half sitting on the parapet next to where she had her feet, completely unbothered by the dizzying drop mere inches away. "So what does Sister Leliana have you looking for in Val Chevin?" He fished the bundle of cookies from his pocket and offered her one.

"Mostly tracking enemy movement." The offered sweet danced through her fingers before it landed in her mouth. "This Corypheus guy really likes elven ruins it seems. Every time we intercept one of his runners there's some new location to check out," she finished around a mouthful of bredele.

"Take it there's some near Val Chevin then?" It was no secret that the Inquisitor had something of an interest in lost elven heritage. As a Dalish Keeper in training prior to the Breach, it wasn't all that surprising.

"Not sure yet. The letters we found didn't mention any success in finding the temple or what ever they were looking for but Lady Nightingale has the full report. I could probably get you a copy if you want." Harding leaned a little closer, her eyes fixed on the cookies in his hand. "May I?"

"Help yourself," Lavellan handed them over and watched them disappear in seconds. "And thank you for the offer but it's not necessary, I'm sure it'll end up on my desk along with all the other paperwork." He pushed himself away from the wall and stretched until his back cracked. "Which I should honestly be getting back to. Thanks for company Harding."

"Anytime Your Worship. Especially when you bring cookies." She sent him off with a wave and Lavellan resigned himself to a day of ink stains and paper cuts.

* * *

He really was fetching.

From the sultry curl of mustache gracing full lips to the way the mid afternoon sun would play through the sable locks curled just across his brow. And the spill of those same golden rays down one side of his sculpted face? Highlighting in such rich detail that his skin practically glowed bronze? Perhaps it would not have been so unbelievably unfair if that were the end of it. But no, there was always more. There was the languid way he rested in his worn wing-back chair, ankles crossed out in front of him, his masculine jaw resting on agile fingers with some dust ridden tome in his lap. He even made the simple act of working the kinks from his neck appear refined and elegant. A human, from Tevinter no less, really had no business being so damn attractive.

But that was Dorian in a nutshell wasn't it? Defying every expectation pinned to him with effortless grace and mocking eyes. A mage so unlike any other that Lavellan was tempted to coin a wholly new word just so people would never confuse the two. For Dorian was flare and fire in equal measure. To see him in a fight was to know the beauty of flame in more forms then the Inquisitor could even name. Dorian knew it of course, every spell was a show whether it was lighting a candle with a snap of fingers or torching a hurlock at fifty paces. The man exuded charm like most people breathed and his laugh was like velvet on the spine.

But the most surprising thing Lavellan had come to learn about the Inquisition's oh so lovely altus was that he was an excellent listener and a caring soul beneath that wit and smirk. Not that Lavellan had spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about the sweet curve of Dorian's lips or anything…

The elf himself, was lounging on the three inch wide railing that overlooked the entirety of the tower. It was the perfect spot really, sitting to the side meant that were Dorian to look up, Lavellan could feign interest in the birds nearest him or in Solas' paintings. Or if he was feeling particularly motivated, he could even chat with Leliana… given that this level was all hers anyway.

"You could go speak with him."

Little over a month since the fall of Haven and Leliana had already stuffed the place with cages, perches and birds to go with them. And that wasn't counting the scouts that were constantly running up and down the narrow stairwell. The elf wondered if Leliana had that as part of her recruitment regime, all applicants must be able to jog up and down stairs with the utmost efficiency. Still, it was a prime location for her, suited almost suspiciously to her needs. From here the Inquisition's spymaster could hear all and see all in a manner of speaking, and it was she who now addressed him from behind her surprisingly empty desk.

"I will, in a bit." He shifted slightly to the right, until the post he leaned against was no longer pressing directly on his spine. Haven had done a real number on his back and it made his old favored slouch not nearly as comfortable now. Yet, with one foot on the rail itself and the other serving as balance, this was about his favorite seat in Skyhold. Mostly because if people thought he was speaking with the Nightingale they tended to leave him alone. Well, as alone as one can be with a dozen cawing ravens hanging feet from you. "Besides I did actually come up here to speak with you, not just to oogle."

Though it was difficult, Lavellan did finally pry his attention away from watching the book-absorbed altus enough to regard her fully. Leliana on the other hand continued to read the report she'd been handed just as Lavellan had first taken a seat on her rail. It was part of why he'd indulged himself his rubbernecking, turning a polite wish to not interrupt her into an advantage.

"You should have said so then. I'm not so busy that we can't speak." She cast the page down with a heavy sigh, leaning back in her chair with a weariness that ran right down to the bone. Not that she'd say it of course. Oh no, Leliana played everything close to the vest to the point where most of it was probably under the vest… maybe under her ribs too. But that didn't mean she had no sense of humor, or that she didn't enjoy teasing in her own way. As her eyelids closed for a moment and her head tilted to rest against the back of her chair the ghost of a smile tugged the sides of her mouth. "Besides, you should learn to carry a conversation with someone while watching another. It could be of great use to you."

"You'll have to teach me that one. You know, sometime inbetween saving the empress and tracking down the grey wardens." Lavellan let his weight tip to his right and gravity to pull him from the railing into a fluid stroll. Practice had perfected that little move and one of these days he was going to try it out on an audience. A very specific one. But not right now, now he had an ex bard to look after. One that he owed a great deal to. "If we both give up trivial things like eating and sleeping I'm sure we'll have the time."

"Hopefully before we set foot in Halamshiral," she chided with a cluck of her tongue and twist of her accent. "Give such long looks in those halls and all of Thedas will know who our Inquisitor pines for. Very dangerous knowledge in the right hands." Her left eye opened just enough so that Lavellan could feel the sharpness of the look.

"First, I do not pine, I was admiring. Pining implies intent and intimacy. Things I should get to enjoy before I'm accused of them." Lavellan's mock indignance tasted almost real and earned him a 'hmph' from Leliana. "And second, I just don't see a point in trying to hide anything from you. Too time consuming." He let a shrug roll through his shoulders as he took a seat on a clear corner of her desk and folded one knee over the other. "Everyone else though? Not even a challenge, except for maybe Bull. But he watches Dorian just as much as I do so maybe he'll be too distracted to notice?"

Leliana just slowly shook her head and let her arms rest across her lap. They wouldn't discuss the dark circles both of them wore just beneath the eyes. Nor would the subject of Redcliffe or Haven be brought up beyond status reports and a planned memorial. Words would after all, do no good for either subject so what was the use of asking now?

Lavellan had once… on the second night after they'd arrived in Skyhold. He'd climbed all those stairs with honeyed wine (though he couldn't remember why he'd thought to bring it) and found Cullen and Leliana exchanging barbed words. He'd asked then, a hand on her shoulder, words meant to soothe her misplaced guilt. And it had seemed enough, she'd let him take the list of those they'd lost. His argument that he should be the one to write those letters, had met with no resistance. But as he'd noted time and again, the Nightingale played everything close to the vest.

"Good, glad we agree. Now, scout Charter said you had word on my clan?"

* * *

Midnight battlements and no rest for the weary. Lavellan stared down into the dizzying depths of the valley below Skyhold and noticed none of it. Too up in his own thoughts to concern himself with frozen slopes and shadowed lake no matter how picturesque they might appear in pools of clear starlight.

No, his mind was in his pocket, folded between the creases of a letter. The same place it had been since Leliana had passed him said letter and he had read said letter, running the maze of Keeper Istimaethoriel's deft penmanship and the meaning therein. That had been hours ago, and he'd somehow made it down from the rookery, through the main hall, up onto the ramparts and all the way to the top of an empty tower without a single person interrupting him. Lavellan would have been amazed were he in any state of mind to notice it.

His fingers were numb against the rough stone, too long in the gelid air, not enough layers between his skin and the night's chill. He hadn't even grabbed his coat and as his stomach was quick to remind, he hadn't eaten since breakfast either. Too busy chewing on a single line "The raiders are well armed and heavily armored, and they come in numbers our hunters cannot match."

He folded his arms, worried his lower lip and unfolded them again, rapping his knuckles against the stone until they threatened to bleed. And when that brought no more answers than the last time he'd done it, he paced. Ten strides left, ten strides right. Careless fingers running through his mane of mist-gray hair, eyes fixed forward and seeing only the weather beaten stone he tread on.

"Now there's the look of a man who could use a drink."

* * *

He really was rather odd.

Slender slip of a man from sharp ear tip to nimble footfall. If the maker had truly chosen him then the design had been one of acute angles and keen edges. His piercing eyes had gone wide for a split second and then narrowed the next. Even with the softening of shadow across high cheekbones and pointed chin the herald looked wild. No more tame than the mass of hair trailing to his hips and near writhing in the stiff breeze rising from below. Of course startling him probably hadn't helped.

Not that Dorian had planned to. He'd been positive Lavellan would have heard the creak of his weight on the ladder rungs or when he opened the door before that. The fact that he hadn't? Disturbing.

Lavellan killed the sparks crawling up his finger tips with a shake of his hand. It took a bit longer for his shoulders to come down out of their squared stance and for him to straighten out of the half crouch he'd slipped into. "Apologies, I didn't hear you come up."

"Yes I'd gathered that much already. Though it is nice to sneak up on you for once instead of having it the other way around." Dorian tried desperately to keep the note of humor in his voice from turning smug. It would be terrible to sour the moment by gloating too much. A compromise then, he strolled past Lavellan until he reached the other side of the roof, dusted off a likely spot against a parapet and sat upon its edge. A fold of his arms, a finger along his jaw and the look was complete. Perfectly casual, a take it or leave it invitation.

Lavellan had of course watched him the entire time, something Dorian had been counting on. With an archdemon-wielding ancient darkspawn running amok in the world, few things could be considered certain. But the herald's gaze lingering on him whenever they were alone? Always. The man was not exactly subtle when there was no one around to put a show on for.

Not that Dorian minded, Lavellan was utterly discreet at all other times and it was awfully nice to be admired so thoroughly. But Dorian wasn't going to tell him that. Oh no, he rather preferred to be the chased party and there were unspoken rules about telling your pursuer that you enjoyed the attention. They might become complacent or think their prize easily claimed. He couldn't let that happen now could he? That and it might be a bit early to assume he knew the mind of the Inquisitor.

But now was not the time for such musings, as something was clearly eating Lavellan from the inside out. The man had after all, walked right past him in the library without even a polite hello or good afternoon. Even after ogling him from the rookery. Oh yes, Dorian had noticed that too. One of the first lessons he'd learned when it came to surviving Tevinter politics. The art of noticing someone noticing you without letting them know that you've noticed. And he'd picked the Inquisitor's pattern out pretty quickly. He'd watch for a bit, stop by the researcher's alcove to collect their latest finding or give them something new to work on and then eventually 'wander' Dorian's way for a chat.

But when Dorian had stood from his chair, intent on finally saying something so lascivious that Lavellan would have no choice but to completely gobsmacked? The elven mage had strolled right past him without so much as a glance, his nose buried in a thin sheet of parchment. Dorian would have merely thought the man busy were it not for the tremble of his hand and the worry clear as day on his face. The same worry still dancing there, just beyond the mask he was trying to hide it behind.

"Well you do make the most interesting noises when you're startled," Lavellan countered. But the ease with which he normally spoke was missing, chased off by the strain still pushing him off to one side while he fidgeted with a sleeve. "It makes it hard to resist."

"I suppose I might forgive you that. I am after all, irresistible in many ways." Perhaps he should just ask. Or at least offer the man a reason to get off this blasted roof. How could he stand being out here without a coat? Had he been out here all this time? How was he not freezing already? "And I would happily tell you all about them if you'd care to join me for a drink."

Lavellan stiffened further, casting his gaze over his shoulder and then to the floor before shaking his head. "I'd make for poor company at the moment."

"Nonsense," Dorian pushed a little harder. "In fact I insist." He'd steer the man down to the tavern physically if he had to. Or perhaps throw him over a shoulder, he did after all, look like he weighed less than the staff he carried.

Lavellan's hands went up in defeat and as if to add insult to injury his stomach growled like a disgruntled cat.

"And food I suppose. Can't have you drinking on an empty stomach, you'd be no use to anyone come the morning."

The Inquisitor simply groaned at that, quite content to not speak of it at all as he followed Dorian back down the ladder.

* * *

"So you're worried you made the wrong choice?"

Dorian was reclining in a plush, lowback chair with a glass of mulled wine in one hand and a platter of fruit and cheeses in front of him. Across the table slumped the Herald.

"Mmm. Worse than that," Lavellan admitted, rolling a plum back and forth across his upturned palm. He'd eaten enough to appease his stomach but only just. He wasn't even looking at Dorian while he spoke, feet propped up on the nearby railing, gaze lost somewhere out in the rest of his room.

"How so?" When Dorian had suggested grabbing something to eat and more importantly, to drink, he had meant at the tavern. He hadn't pictured raiding the kitchens in the dead of night nor that he'd be invited up to the Inquisitor's private quarters. Yet that was precisely what had occurred. And here he sat, on a narrow balcony set into the wall above the Inquisitor's bed trying to suss out the root of the Herald's problem. well, one of them at least.

"Several things if I'm honest. But mostly the fact that these 'bandits' are so well armed and seem fixated on my clan." Lavellan sipped at his wine absently, his mind a million miles away.

"Because it might indicate they're more than simple thugs," Dorian surmised, though he'd suspected it far earlier when the Herald had first told him what the letter was about. "And if that's the case then it becomes a question of why."

Lavellan inclined his head in affirmation and sank lower in his chair.

"And the answers to that question are all terribly grim I take it?"

Another nod, this time with a grimace as Lavellan elaborated, "If they aren't bandits and the attacks are deliberate then the most reasonable assumption is that the clan is being targeted in an effort to get at the Inquisition. Which means my family is in danger because of me. Just like all those we lost in Haven."

There it was, a glimpse of the real panic shadowing his face. No wonder the man had paced for hours if these were the thoughts running through his head. Dorian sat his glass down and carefully chose his next words.

"And unlike Haven, you can't be around to drop a mountain on the villain's head should things 'go south', as they say."

"Not unless you know some spell that allows me to be in two places at once."

"You never know, if travelling through time is possible then who's to say duplicating a living being isn't? But sadly no, I have no such trick up my sleeve."

"Of course not. You'd have to actually wear sleeves first wouldn't you?" Lavellan had meant to lighten the mood and failed. Wincing at the bitterness of his own voice he pulled himself up and sat both fruit and cup back on the table. Dorian didn't deserve the ire Lavellan felt for himself. "Ir abelas…"

But Dorian waved what he was sure was an apology away. "I don't speak elven but I can guess. And you should be, calling into question my perfect sense of fashion? The most grievous of crimes, people have been stripped and flogged for less I'm sure."

Lavellan scoffed and rolled his eyes but he also smiled so Dorian took it as a victory, at least for now.

"Though if I were you, I'd be more concerned about what Leliana's going to do to you." Dorian feigned contemplation just as he saw Lavellan's brow arch in question. "For doubting her abilities of course. A bard is known by their reputation after all. So implying you alone could do a better job then all her agents in Wycome combined is bound to ruffle a feather or two."

"I suppose you're right." Lavellan didn't look entirely convinced, in fact he appeared to deflate a bit. Elbows on the table, one hand over the other with the nail of one thumb inbetween his teeth. "But if the course is wrong. If Leliana's people do fail or don't get there in time. If it is because of my involvement in the Inquisition… It won't be like Redcliffe, no magic amulet to send me back if things don't work out."

"That's a lot of if's you realize," Dorian was quick to point out, "And I'm a little concerned with your lack of confidence in your own judgement." He gestured to the room around them and more specifically to Skyhold as a whole. "From what I understand of it, you had this all fall in your lap. Yet here we all are, a motley band fighting for a common cause and under a single banner. Your banner. If you don't trust your own judgement then at the very least you should trust mine. I do after all, have excellent intuition."

Finally he had managed to coax a full smile out of the elf. A little shaky around the edges but there and that would have to do seeing how late the hour was. Wouldn't do to be seen leaving the Herald's chambers after the sun rose, people might talk.

"And on that note my dear Inquisitor I think I shall take my leave. I'm an absolute terror if don't get my beauty rest." Dorian stood, smoothed invisible creases from the leather he wore and made to move past Lavellan's chair.

A journey interrupted when Lavellan's hand alighted on his forearm and the elf caught him with those helio blue eyes of his. Even seen through the sweep of eyelash and from the side, they were something. Dorian didn't quite have a name for that something, striking was close but too impersonal as were the half dozen other words that came to mind as he waited for the Inquisitor to say what ever it was he'd stopped him for.

"It's Cey," he stated finally, and when that earned him a look of confusion he continued, "my name, it's Cey. Everyone here calls me something different. Herald, Inquisitor, Boss… your Worship is probably the most unsettling… but no one uses my name. I'm beginning to wonder if anyone even knows it."

Dorian looked down at this man who some would consider blessed, Maker sent, more legend than flesh and saw what no one else was allowed to, uncertainty... raw vulnerability naked in his eyes. He wasn't sure what had convinced Lavellan that he was the person to confide in. Honestly wasn't sure what to even say to that, intimacy that didn't involve a lot more skin wasn't really his area of expertise.

"Doesn't Varric call you Scarecrow?"

A laugh then, soft but needed as Lavellan's hand fell away and that terrible pleading in his eyes sank back down. "Yes he does. I can't imagine why." No longer holding on to something living, Lavellan's hand seemed lost, a flighty little bird finally settling on that red silk scarf he always wore. That at least brought a sense of calm over him. Dorian would have assumed it was a token of home if he hadn't recognized the serpents embroidered on it to be of Tevinter make. From a lover then? Perhaps someone the Herald had lost at the Conclave?

"Indeed, it's such a mystery." Dorian said it to stop the onslaught of silence and to distract himself from further speculation.

"Thank you by the way. I'd forgotten how helpful it can be to just talk."

"Think nothing of it. But next time let's start earlier in the day shall we? We could do so over a game of wicked grace or something. You can get what ever you need to off your chest and I can take all your coin. Everybody wins."

Lavellan smirked at that and it was oddly devious. "Now there's an idea." He stood then, bowing in mock formality. "Until the next time then Lord Dorian Pavus. I bid you a good night."

Not to be outdone, Dorian returned the gesture with added flare just because he could. "And to you Lord Cey Lavellan," adding a "well, how ever much of it remains," as he straightened and headed for the stairs.


	2. Like Old Times

Noonday sunlight flitted through plumes of dust as a half dozen mages donned handkerchief face masks and brandished brooms. The tower they descended upon had been dilapidated and missing a ceiling less than a week ago. Now it was whole but filthy with the remains of the construction as sawdust and chips of stone littered the floorboards and everything else in sight. The mages were undaunted in their task. What was a bit more scrubbing if it meant having a tower to conduct their studies? Not a cage but a home, a place to feel safe. And in there midsts stood the person responsible for that sanctuary, a grey haired elf with pale tattoos who led the charge with broom at the ready.

They had decided to split into teams and to tackle the individual floors at the same time. It took hours before any true progress could be seen and even then there wasn't much to look at.

"It'll look better once we put some proper bookshelves in." An elderly man with a sun leathered face and a shock of red hair sighed, pulled the mask from his face with one crooked finger. "And maybe some really comfortable chairs. That would be nice wouldn't it?"

"I'm more curious about what kind of alchemy equipment we can fit in here," another retorted. A freckled youth, no more that fifteen years and just hitting that age of easy disappointment in the world. "All this sun and warm might be fine for your reading Enchanter Arin, but I'm not so sure about brewing in here. It seems a little cramped."

"You know the Inquisition already has a fair amount of alchemy equipment set up down in the undercroft, yes?" Lavellan pointed out after tossing yet another pan-full of debris outside.

The lad's response was pure mumble as he pushed the bristles of his broom against already swept floorboards.

"I think what Thomas is trying to say is, while the Inquisition has been more than welcoming to we mages… there's still a fair bit of mistrust going around. Imposing on what trust we've earned…"

"It's hardly imposing, you're all part of the Inquisition." Lavellan let his shoulders fall slightly and shook his head. "If you'd like, I will ask Arcanist Dagna if she'd mind moving the necessary equipment out of the undercroft if that would make everyone more comfortable."

"Wait...Dagna's here?!" Thomas' face now wore a wide eyed grin. "Bout this tall, red haired and always excited?"

"...yes?"

Thomas didn't even wait for Lavellan to finish before he was hurrying for the door.

"Oy lad, put your broom back were it belongs before you go running off." Enchanter Arin called after him but Thomas was already gone. Just as the door started to swing shut after him, it swung back once more to admit one tall and tanned, male human.

"What's the kid's hurry?" the man asked, patting dust and dirt from a long grey coat tied at the waist with a broad red sash.

"Off to see an old friend it would seem." Lavellan answered, fetching Thomas' discarded broom from the ground and setting it up along a nearby table.

"You'll have to forgive the boy, Kinloch hold didn't have much in the way of friendly faces. If it is the same lady dwarf as I recall, then she would count as one of the very few bright spots to be found there." Enchanter Arin explained as he leaned against his own broom for support. The newcomer merely shrugged and closed the door behind him.

"Still leaves us short a pair of hands," noted Lavellan, wiping grime and sweat from his forehead with a bit of his sleeve. "Unless you came to lend us one…?"

"Actually I came to speak with you," related the man and likely mage, judging by the three headed dragon staff slung across his back. "Varric said I might find you here."

"Ah well, what did you need then?" Lavellan set his rag and pan aside before hurriedly cleaning his hands off on his thigh and offering the non glowing one in greeting. "Also I'm terribly sorry but I haven't had a chance to learn everyone's name yet."

The man accepted the handshake but looked a touch bewildered. "Did Varric not mention I was coming? I figured he'd tell you at the very least."

Lavellan got the distinct impression he'd forgotten something important. He gave this stranger a much more probing once over trying to figure out what he was on about. He was a few inches taller than Cey himself, with short, rough cut, black hair that spiked upward in the front and deep-set eyes. The shadow of a beard gave otherwise boyish cheeks a roguish charm and there was a thin red tattoo around his left eye with a scar running across a slightly crooked nose.

When Lavellan merely raised a brow at him he chuckled.

"Or did the chantry really not put wanted posters all over Like Varric said they did? Either way we should probably take this conversation in private."

Realization broke over Lavellan's face before being chased off by a wry smile. "You're probably right about that." He canted his head towards the stairs behind him. "We can walk the ramparts, seeing as it's probably not a good idea to cross the training ground right now."

Hawke didn't really have a response for that so settled for following the Inquisitor upwards. Once on the battlements, it was easier to find a modicum of privacy. Or at least to know they wouldn't be overheard.

"Sorry for not recognising you but when Varric said he was calling in a friend I wasn't sure who to expect. He seems to know someone no matter where we are."

"Tell me about it." Hawke had found himself a comfy spot on the stone walkway and eased himself down with his back against a parapet. The man looked bone weary, scrappy and every bit as good humored about it all as Varric had described in his books. It felt a little odd to be standing on the same roof. "So you'll forgive me if I skip most of the 'how do you do's and 'well met's. I'm bout half dead and it's a bloody long walk from… well it's better if you don't know." Hawke gave a playful pat to the ground next to him. "Let's get started then."

To Hawke's surprise, Lavellan actually took the offered seat.

"Varric thought you might have some insight into our current situation."

Hawke laughed at that, and then coughed as some grit from the journey got stuck in his throat. "From what I hear you already dropped a mountain on the bastard. Not sure anything I have to tell you would be much more helpful."

"At this point, I'll take any help I can get. The whole world's a mess right now." Lavellan let his head rest back against the shaded stone and watched the clouds as they drifted past. "Ancient evils, sky tearing itself to shreds, everybody fighting everyone else. Does it ever stop?"

Kirkwall's champion looked thoughtful at that, following the line of distant soldiers as they patrolled. "Honestly I'm not sure. I can't really think of a time when something wasn't exploding or bleeding or on fire. Hell, hang around with my friends long enough and you're likely to see all three at once." Some distant memory brought a slight smirk to his face as he said more quietly, "but if you can't find the time to enjoy life, then you make it for yourself. I'm not sure people like us can do much else."

They sat in silence for a bit after that, watching and feeling weary. Until Lavellan broke it with a simple and complicated question phrased as an observation.

"I'm a little surprised you're here alone."

"It's hard to explain. Honestly not sure I could if I tried." Hawke had one arm thrown around a raised knee and the other resting in his lap yet he still managed to seem restless, like a spell held in the hand too long. "I'm never happy leaving Anders alone. Having that damned spirit inside him doesn't exactly help either. But when Varric asked me to come I couldn't say no. I also couldn't just bring Anders with me… for obvious reasons."

"Thank you, for coming I mean."

"Not much choice there," Hawke grumbled before exhaling some held frustration. "You'd think killing something would make it stay down but apparently darkspawn don't play by the rules."

"Pretty sure that's why we keep Wardens around."

"Yeah, provided they don't start vanishing without a bloody trace. Hell, they were the ones that locked Corypheus away in the first place for all the good it's done. Course him getting out is probably more my fault than theirs... still." Hawke managed to sound both frustrated and self effacing at the same time. " I had a contact in the Wardens checking on possible corruption you see, and then I get a letter from Varric, ' _Chuckles, Corypheus is back, could really use your help.'_ And now I'm here, up a mountain and ass deep in trouble again."

"Fun isn't it? Being needed."

"Ha! I can see why Varric likes you." Hawke gave Lavellan's shoulder a friendly slap before returning to the topic at hand. "Can't say I'm keen on the idea that the two are connected but..."

"I hope not," breathed Lavellan, "it's bad enough that Corypheus has the Venatori, demons and the red templars. I'd rather not see the Wardens join the list."

"Hey I didn't come to deliver all bad news. That contact I mentioned? I asked him to look into this Corypheus business to see if there was any connection between him and the disappearances. Last I heard he had something for us, said to meet him in Crestwood. It's a village in Ferelden."

"Well that's something at least."

"That's the spirit," drawled Hawke as he stood with a stretch and then offered Lavellan a hand up. "I can meet you there or travel with you if you like."

"I think meeting there would be best… some of my colleagues might be a bit ups…"

"Inquisitor," from the doorway leading back to the staircase floated a thick nevarran accent followed swiftly by Cassandra's striding step. "I wonder if I might have a w…" And that was the moment she saw them. Or more specifically, saw Hawke.

"Champion? What are you doing…" She looked like she wanted to say more but so strong was her need to frown that her lips pressed shut and cut her words short. Her breathing grew faster, her brows narrowed and her shoulders rose until they were square. Then she turned on a heel and stormed back the way she had come.

"What just happened?" Hawke had been about to introduce himself properly, it always felt a touch weird when people called him Champion. "Do I even want to know?"

"No time to explain." Lavellan had already taken off after the seeker, near positive he knew where she was heading. "Come on, I may need an extra set of hands."

* * *

"You conniving little shit."

"You kidnapped interrogated me! What did you expect?!"

It's not so easy keeping pace with a long legged woman hell bent on wringing a roguish dwarf's neck. By the time Hawke and the Inquisitor had caught up with Cassandra she'd already found Varric and only the dwarf's honed reflexes and the fortunate placement of a table kept her gauntlet clad fist from connecting with his scruffy jaw.

"Hey, enough!" Lavellan jumped up and over the rail scrambling to get between them as Varric tried to put more jaw-sparing tables between himself and Cassandra's anger. With a new target in sight, the Seeker's ire swerved and collided with her disbelief.

"You're taking his side?" Spying Hawke trying to reach Varric's position only made that disbelief ring harder.

"I said, ENOUGH."

Never, had Lavellan raised his voice to Cassandra before, and the room rang with the sound.

Her shoulders slumped instinctively, her own voice lowering even as she glowered at all of them.

"We needed someone to lead this Inquisition." Like a child being scolded for a fight they didn't start, Cassandra began pacing between the strewn chairs. "First Leliana and I asked the Hero of Ferelden but she refused. 'Too much bad blood between Orlais and Ferelden to have the queen take up under the Chantry's Banner like that.' " Her gaze shifted and narrowed as it landed on Varric and a very lost looking Hawke. "Then we looked for Hawke… but he had vanished."

"In my defense…" Hawke swallowed under the weight of the Seeker's edged stare. Her and Aveline could have exchanged tips on making him feel like a guilty child. "I had good reason to think the Chantry wanted me for more than just my boyish good looks."

"The Inquisition has a leader." Varric spat back, posturing himself possessively in front of Hawke. When Cassandra took a few angry steps forward, Varric continued to stare her down.

She tilted her head and growled between clenched teeth.

"Hawke would have been at the conclave." her hands clenched and unclenched rising to point at Varric from across the room. "And you kept him from us." again her fingers balled into a fist before falling to her side. "If anyone could have saved Most Holy…"

"Varric's not responsible for what happened at the conclave!" Hawke retorted while stepping to the dwarf's side. "There wouldn't even have been a need for the conclave if I had stopped Ander's insane plan." He placed a hand on Varric's shoulder and the two exchanged a look. "If you're going to punch someone, it should be me."

"Look, no one is punching anyone." Lavellan rubbed a hand over his face and exhaled slowly. "What's done is done. You can't change the past Cassandra."

"So what… I have to accept that the Maker meant for this to happen?" She looked to Lavellan with an expression now softened with sorrow and things unsaid. "That he…That Most Holy…" But it wouldn't last. Like a shield rising to cover what hurt most, Cassandra's visage grew hard once more. "Varric is a liar Inquisitor. A snake. Even after the Conclave when we needed Hawke most, Varric kept him from us."

"I was protecting my friend!" Varric shot back and suddenly Hawke's hand on his shoulder was not merely comforting him but holding the rogue back. "You people have done enough to him."

"Varric…" Hawke started to say but Varric cut him off with an angry shake of his head.

"No, I'm tired of this. Everyone always expects you to solve their problems. To throw your neck on the line so they don't have to."

"Good people DIED BECAUSE YOU KEPT HIM FROM US!"

"Stop it both of you!" There was the sharp scent of burnt ozone as Lavellan's voice and presence crackled with energy unspent. "Fighting with each other isn't going to get us anywhere." He'd lowered his voice once more but the air remained just as tense.

When Cassandra finally dropped her gaze and turned away, Hawke found he could breathe again. If this was what it had been Like for Varric since the Seeker had shown up at the Amell estate then Hawke owed him more than just a few drinks.

"Perhaps you are right," Cassandra said quietly, her voice thin and defeated. "I cannot dwell on what might have been. We have so much at stake." She stepped further away from them, eventually leaning on a far table with her back still turned. "Go, just go."

No one wanted to be the first to move. Glances became looks and were exchanged until Hawke nudged Varric's shoulder and nodded towards the stairs. With some coaxing he was able to steer his friend in that direction with one last look back at the Inquisitor to see if the elf planned to join them. Lavellan had already walked to Cassandra's side by then, his arm up and around her shoulders as he said something Hawke couldn't hear. He left them to it, he had his own friend to calm down and that took precedent.

* * *

It was much later when Lavellan was able to seek out Varric, finding he, Hawke and Blackwall of all people, tucked away at a corner table and deep into a bottle of whiskey. Blackwall was the first to notice his presence.

"Inquisitor," Blackwall called with a wave before offering Lavellan the only other chair at their table. "Hawke was just saying he might have a lead on my fellow Wardens."

The aforementioned mage was nursing his drink and watching Blackwall with an unreadable expression. Varric on the other hand was grimacing into his glass and only frowned harder when he saw Lavellan.

"Yes, we should be heading out within the next day or so." Lavellan laid a hand on the offered chair but didn't sit. "Forgive me Warden, but I need to speak to Varric and the Champion alone for a moment."

Blackwall looked confused for a moment but didn't question it, quite accustomed to following orders without knowing the motivation behind them. "Of course. I'll be at the bar if anyone needs me."

"Thank you."

When he was out of earshot, Lavellan looked to the two remaining. "Soooo… that got a bit heated didn't it?"

"Hmph, that's one way to put it." Varric snorted with a bitter chuckle into another mouthful of whiskey.

"Are you alright?" asked Lavellan, much to Hawke's surprise. The other mage had expected and been prepared to rebuff a lecture from the Inquisition's leader. Instead the elf looked genuinely concerned.

"That depends. How mad is Cassandra?" Varric countered though there was no anger left in him.

Lavellan sank into the chair he'd been leaning on and rested his face in his hand. "She blames herself of course. For everything no less, not just for believing you."

"I wasn't trying to keep secrets. I told the Inquisition everything that seemed important…" Varric took another drink and swallowed hard. "At the time…"

"I know. Even if you were keeping Hawke's whereabouts a secret I wouldn't blame you." Lavellan assured though he was still rubbing at tired eyes. "No one could have known what was going to happen at the conclave. All the more reason why Cassandra shouldn't blame you nor herself."

"Would it help if I talked to her?" Hawke spoke up at last, still feeling slightly out of the loop. It had been too long since he and Varric had been able to grab a drink together and now they were in the midst of another mess. One he should have prevented before it even began.

"You can try. But I wouldn't chance it tonight. Let her gather her thoughts." With a tired wave Lavellan got Cabot's attention and motioned for a drink. The elf rarely drank unless he had company. Whether that was a dalish thing or just because there weren't enough hours in the day to indulge like that wasn't really clear. "Seeing as the cat is out of the bag, I suggest traveling with us to Crestwood."

"Sure that's a good idea, Scarecrow?"

"I don't see why not. Scout Harding and her team should get there a little ahead of us provided we meet no resistance on the road and set off tomorrow."

"Bright and early then?" Hawke asked with naked disappointment.

"Afraid so. The sooner we head out the sooner we can hopefully lay this mess to bed." Though he was apologetic, Lavellan would not be swayed, no matter how Hawke groaned or made a show of resting his head cheek down on the table.

"Ugh don't talk of beds, I can't even remember the last time I saw a proper one." Hawke puffed his cheeks out and blew his breath out with a huff.

"Don't tell me you and Blondie have been hiding out in caves this whole time…"

"I'm not saying one way or the other."

"Oh Hawke, I tried to warn you…"

"About which part? The 'Hawke how the hell did you let this happen?' part or the 'Well now you've got to fix it,' part?"

"I never said…"

"I know Varric." Hawke let out a long slow breath, reaching without looking for his friend's gloved hand and giving it a pat. "It's just been a long day."

Lavellan took that as his cue to excuse himself.


	3. Not of This Place

Soft, cold earth sticking between fingers and burying itself deep beneath the nail. Hard, unyielding stones so heavy on the backs and shoulders of those forced to heave them from their resting places. Decaying leaves and snaking plant life ripped away from lone hillside perfuming the air amidst the scent of wood rot and oncoming rain. A silent forest standing as witness to shifting and robed figures working tirelessly through long, harrowing nights. In the distance, a solitary howl briefly shattered the smothering quiet, high and inhuman. It was the only animal sound they've heard in weeks and for a moment they paused... but only for a moment.

Three weeks to find the right spot among the shifting paths of the Brecilian forest, two more to uncover the entrance. Ugly, broken pillars; once barely visible through a screen of writhing vines and cruel thorns, now bare like bone and bathed in torchlight. None who saw them wanted to venture past them, into the still darkness that sat like an open mouth in the hillside. But, a rough boot heel on the back of an exhausted elf sent her and her torch stumbling forward. Not a single breath was heard until the slave righted herself and picked back up her fallen scrap of light. A sigh then, a momentary feeling of foolishness at being afraid of an open passageway. But with a half dozen guardsmen lost to wildlife or simply gone without trace in the weeks prior, even mighty Venatori mages can learn to be cautious.

Wouldn't this mission be completed already if they had more than a handful of apostates to bolster their numbers? Most likely, and the loss of good, loyal imperial soldiers was not a mark Laelius looked forward to including in his report back to Calpurnia. But as he strode forward, passing the cringing slave without so much as a look and into the damp tunnel of ancient elven ruins, he prayed to the elder one that it wouldn't be a complete loss.

Collapsed passageways and ropey spiderwebs that clung to the very swords hacking away at them slowed the Venatori's progress to a crawl. But it was not all misfortune and headache, for most of the traps that had been set in eons past had been disarmed. Thin wires cut years before lay curled in the dust and jaws forged of iron stood snapped shut among the dried out husks of giant spiders and taint stricken wildlife. A few of Laelius' lessers found their nerves bolstered by this slow but uneventful pace… bolstered enough to complain.

How sweet the swift silencing of their hushed whining when they arrived at the ritual chamber. An empty dias with glass shards laying dark in the dust. Laelius swept them aside with a disinterested boot. Beyond the shaft of filtered light pooling from the broken ceiling above, stood a shadowed statue with wings held wide. Some ugly elvish thing, left to rot in the ruins along with everything else. He struck it with lightning just to watch it crack and smirked as the left arm crashed to the floor in splintered marble.

"Fergus," he called, motioning the apprentice over with a lazy wave. "Have them bring in the basins, I wish to begin as soon as possible."

"Shall I have Haelia prepare the slaves?" Fergus was using his staff to lean on, a southern mage trait Laelius found most amusing. The fresh cuts peeking from the edges of the apostate's robes were a more recent habit of course, one Laelius also found amusing.

"So eager to see blood flowing aren't you?" The Venatori couldn't help but chuckle. So nice to see some enthusiasm so far south. Pity they hadn't been able to recruit more, losing the Redcliffe mages had wounded more than just their pride. Still, collecting Kirkwall's resident blood mages had been an excellent choice even if his next assignment certainly didn't feel like a reward.

"I'm just curious is all." The younger man grinned with a flash of teeth that purely predatory. "I've never seen a demon from 'beyond the fade'."

Laelius merely shrugged with one crimson clad shoulder. How to explain it to a mage that had grown up in a prison? How to correct his assumption? Could he even begin to explain the things he'd seen? He shook his hooded head and reached for the ritual tome. If it worked as it was supposed to, then he wouldn't have to explain, the results would speak for itself.

"Let us prepare the chamber. There is still much to do."

It took longer than he wanted and yet seemingly no time at all. Sigils were painted along the floor with precise strokes, braziers were lit and a potent mix of herb and incense added until the air was hazy with the smoke and warmth. Laelius stood in the center of the ritual space with tome in hand and a pleading slave kneeling at his feet. He spoke in echoing ivocation, eyes half closed as his thoughts became will and his will became power. The others chanted in their trance, focusing on him, filling him with energy until it threatened to spill across reality.

He pulled it in, shaped it along the dagger in his hand and thrust it down along the slave's trembling throat. Pleased and intrigued, the spirits stirred on the other-side. They pushed and pulled, straining against the press of the Veil. But these did not interest him. Flimsy mockeries of base human emotions, no, he shook them away from his mind.

Like a sailor waits upon an ocean black and baits the waters with a drop of blood, Laelius let the slave's blood flow into the waiting basin. When the spray had slowed to a drip, he pushed the body away with his foot and motioned for the next one to be handed to him. Never once did his cadence break. Never once was his focus lost. The second one tumbled down the dais to lay motionless with the first. three more past the same way, each whimpering or wailing until the soldiers began gagging them before throwing them in front of him. He barely noticed, his eye watching only the line of crimson liquid as it steadily rose.

As the blade dimpled the flesh of the six victim he felt the brush of something worthy. Something _alien._

He reached for it instinctively.

* * *

Keeper Lanaya held a cloth over her nose and mouth, every meal she had ever considered eating threatening to leave her.

It was carnage. There was no other word for it. Not even living with shem bandits had prepared her for what she was seeing now.

The chamber reeked of spoiled meat and worse things. There was no inch of the floor that wasn't covered in the dried and sticky remains of something once human. Those corpses that remained whole were twisted in on themselves in ways that broke the mind. Here a mage had torn out his own throat, there a guard had gutted his fellow before turning the blade on himself. Every body they passed had suffered a similar fate, each face contorted into a look of absolute terror. And in the center of it all, knelt a thing she couldn't understand.

When her hunters had returned to her with a scared elven boy shivering between them she hadn't known what to make of it. It wasn't uncommon for them to get runaways. But the boy had been white as a spirit and splashed with blood under a layer of mud. She'd thought slavers at first but then the boy had started talking and things had only gotten worse.

Now she stood in a ruin, looking at so much death and evil while a pair of unblinking green eyes stared at her. Clan Sabrae had been right, this place was cursed.

"What should we do with it?" Camman stood a touch behind her but was going to great lengths not to look directly at the thing staring at them. All it could do was stare, being bound by heavy chains to the floor and behind what Lanaya recognized to be a barrier. A damn tricky one too, considering it was being sustained even after its caster had perished. They'd found his body just outside the chamber. Still facing his opponent, a dagger jutting from his gut.

Lanaya tried to take a full breath and found herself choking on it. When the coughing had stopped she tried think. "I'm not sure," she admitted, trying not to make actual eye contact. "I'd say banish it back to where ever it they summoned it from, but I'm not sure what will happen when that barrier comes down."

"Well we can't just leave it…" Gheyna whispered from off to her right. She looked as green as Lanaya felt.

"No. No, we can't…" She took a trembling step towards the dais.


End file.
